The Quest
by Tankspridd
Summary: Dean and Sam are on a hunt when all their stuff goes missing and they are told that they must complete a quest to get their personal effects back. D/C.  Surprise inside!


**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Supernatural. I wish I did. Or at least had a joint-custody agreement and got to spend time with it every other weekend with supervised visitation. Oh well…**

**[This is really long and kinda rambly… wow]**

**SPN Crack Day 9:**

**Word: **GAME THEME: World of Warcraft

**Pairing: **Dean/Castiel; Sam; SPECIAL SUPER SECRET GUEST!

**Rating: **PG-13

**Setting: **Season 6 [Somewhat AU as this will take place after Sam has his soul back]

The Winchester brothers roamed the campus of San Joaquin Delta College in search of Bret Macaulay, Steve Gordon, and Isaac Sumner – all of them math and science majors. Rumor had it that the three students were well-versed in the world of MMORPGs – that is, massively multiplayer online role-playing games.

"So where are the losers?" Dean said with a roll of his eyes.

Sam shot him a bitchface and shook his head, "Dude, seriously? They're college kids, okay? Just regular kids with – Wait, is that them over there?"

He pointed across the quad at the three men sitting in a circle on the grass, their laptops out and flashing with colors and indeterminable images. Two of them were wearing glasses with thick "nerd-chic" frames and one of them had a Star Wars tee on – Boba Fett, to be precise.

Dean stared off in a different direction, his eyes glazed over as he was lost in his thoughts.

_Why had Castiel not answered him last night?_

_**Hey, Cas – it's me, Dean. We need to talk about some stuff. If you're not busy, stop by. We're in Angels Camp, California – I know, cheesy – and we're in the Angels Inn. I really hope you answer this, man.**_

He was ripped from his thoughts by the sharp jab of an elbow in between his ribs.

"Dean. Focus, man. The case?"

The elder Winchester looked up, vaguely confused, "What? Oh- um. Yeah. Sorry, I…"

Sam raised an eyebrow, "You okay? You've been spacey lately. I mean, are…."

Dean looked up at his gigantor of a baby brother and smiled, "Fine, Sammy. Everything is copacetic!" He heard his brother scoff at his using "copacetic" correctly, as though it was impossible to believe Dean Winchester knew his SAT vocabulary words. He walked off across the quad, away from the three suspected witches – erm, warlocks… Whatever.

The younger hunter called out after his brother, his deep voice echoing across the campus, "Hey! What about the case?"

Dean turned to him with a smile – a smile Sam definitely recognized as one of his brother's fake smiles – "They're _your_ people, Sammy. Go – speak Geek to them. I dunno; World of Warcraft or something…"

When the hunter found himself alone finally – behind the one of the buildings, he leaned up against the stucco wall and let out a heavy sigh. "Let's try this again…"

He closed his eyes and concentrated.

_Cas? Castiel? Hey – Listen, I just want to talk about what happened. I – I wanna talk face-to-face. I know you're probably busy… Just get down here when you can._

He opened his eyes and looked around. But there was no trenchcoat-wearing Angel to be found.

Calling it a day, Dean made his way back to the Impala and waited for Sam.

When his brother did return, he shook his head.

"They aren't witches, Dean. I don't know what's got those monsters running around out here – but the only spells those Poindexters cast are in EverQuest."

Dean chuckled, "EverQuest? Geez, Poindexter – I think you're the pot calling the kettle black."

But joke time was over. This was serious Sammy mode.

"Okay – be straight with me. You've been freaky this whole hunt. Now, please, tell me what the Hell has you all worked up?"

Dean opened his mouth, ready to make up some excuse about missing Lisa or something – Lord knows that ship had sailed and he had already cut those losses.

He was saved from lying to his brother by a gentle rapping of knuckles on the Impala's window.

The driver cringed at the sound of someone touching his baby's windows and he snapped around to rip the person a new one for smudging the glass.

A small black boy, probably no more than eight or nine years old, was standing at the side of the Impala with a look of determination on his face.

Dean rolled down the window, "What's the matter, kid?"

The boy's voice was unnaturally deep for his age and he bellowed, "Dean Winchester – you are being sent on a quest. A noble quest."

The hunter turned to his brother and let out a chuckle, "A quest? Do I look like Frodo to you?"

The boy continued; his voice remaining level and monotonous, "Your quest involves the recovery of many precious items. You have 12 hours to complete your quest, before the items are lost for all eternity."

Before either hunter could ask what the precious items were, the boy disappeared.

Dean eyed his brother and they sped off, peeling out of the campus parking lot and tearing down the road on the way back to their room at Angels Inn.

**1:25 PM [10 hours and 45 minutes left…]**

The Winchesters burst into their motel room with every intention of finding some way out of this quest and off of this case.

Sam grabs his bag, hoping that his trusty laptop will tell them something about who was behind this and how they could defeat him. His hand raked through the bag and his face knotted up in confusion.

Frowning, he turned the bag upside-down over the motel bed, sending all its contents cascading on the mattress. "Dean… My laptop is missing."

The shorter man raised an eyebrow, "This isn't good… Maybe we can get internet on your cell?"

His brother whimpered pitifully at the thought of his laptop being gone, but nodded anyways. He fumbled around in his pockets for a while, but could not produce his cellphone. "Dean… my cell is gone."

The elder hunter rolled his eyes, "Really? Are you losing everything now?" He reached into his own pocket, ready to produce his cellphone, but found that his was missing as well.

"What the Hell…" Dean managed to say, after rifling through his bags, "Sammy – all our phones are gone. Even the back-ups."

They stared at each other for a moment, both of them equally concerned that someone had broken in and stolen their things.

The mere thought of someone touching his things and taking them from him was enough to make Dean Winchester a very unhappy hunter. He barked at his brother, "Make sure the rest of our stuff is here… I'm gonna use the Angel Hotline."

He sat at the edge of the bed and closed his eyes, bowing his head reverently_, "Castiel; Sam and I would really appreciate a hand down here, buddy. We've been robbed and something just doesn't feel right about this…"_

His prayer was interrupted by Sam's frantic cries. "Dean! They emptied out the trunk… all our weapons, gone. Weapons, cells… and Dad's jacket."

Dean's green eyes snapped right open at the mention of his favorite jacket – one of the last ties he had to John Winchester. "What? Someone stole my jacket?"

Sam nodded. He knew how attached his brother was to that jacket – to the idea of John Winchester – and he knew that was a low-blow for someone to steal it.

The elder brother was about to go completely berserk, pulling at his hair and pacing the room like a caged animal, when he paused and turned back to his brother, "Wait. What else did they take, Sammy?"

The giant hunter's lip twitched and he mumbled, like a child, "A picture."

Dean stepped closer, cupping his ear, "A what?"

Sam cleared his throat and enunciated, "They stole a picture – a picture of me and Mom. From when I was born. Crappy little ol' Polaroid I keep in my bag."

The hunter felt his heart sink at the mention of their mother. "I didn't know you had any pictures of Mom. Shit." He punched the wall, frustrated. "Why doesn't Cas _freakin'_ answer!"

There was a soft thud behind them and both Winchesters turned around to see the small black boy from earlier standing in the middle of their motel room.

He smiled, his face surprisingly solemn – even as he smiled, "So, now you understand what it is you need to find."

Dean would have strangled him with his bare hands right there, had he not been in the form of an innocent child.

This scheming bastard, whoever he was, knew that and chuckled. He made his way to the window, looking out at the parking lot of the motel. Then he turned back to Dean and smiled, "Oh and Dean? There's a very special prize for you if you win."

With that, he was gone.

The elder hunter looked up from his watch, "Well, we have about 10 hours left to find this stuff. Let's make a list of everything that's been taken and we're just gonna have to do this the old-fashioned way – leave no stone unturned."

Sam grabbed a piece of crappy motel stationery and scribbled out a list of the stolen items.

**2:16 PM [9 hours and 54 minutes left…]**

Dean and Sam piled into the Impala and began to cruise the streets of Angels Camp, hoping to find their stolen belongings.

They decided to try looking through the little knick-knack shops first – hoping that, in between all the kitsch, they would find something.

Sam's eyes lit up the moment that they walked into the first store. There was a table covered in cheesy little frames – you know; the kind that either breaks or is too ugly to put out where people can see.

In one of these ugly little frames was the picture from the day Sam was born. His vision blurred from the tears, but he knows the picture by heart.

_Mary Winchester is sitting in bed, still wearing her pale green hospital gown – a small bundle of blue fabric and squishy pink newborn in her arms. She has the world's biggest smile on her face and her blue eyes are firmly focused on the precious new life she has just brought into the world. Her golden hair is a little messy and her face looks more than a little tired from the labor, but she is definitely the happiest mother at that moment._

The oversized Winchester grabbed the frame while Dean quickly distracted the cashiers, allowing his brother to reclaim one of the only connections he has to their mother.

When the elder hunter looked back up to his brother, he saw the thumbs-up signal and immediately made his way to the door – both of them disappearing into the Impala to finish their annoying quest.

**3:30 PM [8 hours and 40 minutes left…]**

The hunters walked into another little tchotke shop on Main Street with the hope their luck would continue. This shop, unlike its predecessor, was filled with ceramic-ware.

Hundreds upon hundreds of Angels, cats and all sorts of little figurines - EVERYWHERE.

Dean went up and down every aisle, looking at every shelf – hoping to find any of his missing belongings. Even just one of the guns would be a sight for sore eyes at this point.

Then he saw it – a duffel bag lying near the Employees Only storage room. Could it be filled with his missing weapons? Or maybe their cellphones?

He crept closer and knelt beside the bag. Looking around to make sure no one was watching; he slowly unzipped the bag. The first thing his eyes made contact with was his M1911. He almost wept with joy. "Oh man, am I glad to see you."

He looked through the duffel quickly and, upon realizing that all their weapons were intact and in the bag, he bounced up like a meerkat. His eyes scanned the shop, looking for his overgrown brother. "Sam?"

Grabbing the bag, he ran out of the shop and to the Impala, where he found Sam. "Dude, why'd you leave? I found our weapons; everything – guns, knives, flamethrowers… you name it."

Sam smiled, holding up another, identical, duffel. He chuckled, "And I found the cellphones. In a bakery a few streets over."

Dean gave his brother an appreciative pat on the shoulder and they tossed the bags into the Impala's roomy trunk, before driving off to find John Winchester's jacket.

**5:43 PM [6 hours and 27 minutes left…]**

Dean and Sam walked into the museum, hoping not to trip any sort of alarms. It certainly wasn't their first B&E, but Angels Camp was a small town and they knew it would be quite the scene if they were caught.

The long-haired giant was standing guard as his brother knelt in front of the door – his lock-picking skills hard at work. But, as expected, they were inside within minutes.

Dean looked up at Sam and huffed, gesturing to the countless old-time carriages that filled the Angels Camp Museum. "Really?" he hissed, "My jacket is somewhere in this _Little House on the Prairie_ museum?"

The taller man scoffed, rolling his eyes, and stomped off to look for their father's jacket.

It turned out; John Winchester's old jacket was in the driver's seat of an old black buggy. Sam was the one who found it – waving it around over his head like a battle flag.

"Dean! Dean!" he hissed.

The bowlegged man ran to his brother's side and took the jacket, clutching it to his chest before he slipped it on. "Oh man, I am so glad we got this back."

The boy appeared before them suddenly. They could tell that he was visibly pleased by the Winchesters being such good sports. He applauded them sarcastically and gave them a tilted smirk, "Bravo, boys. You really are a credit to your species."

Dean scoffed, rolling his eyes, "Yeah, well – we won…"

But the dark-skinned boy shushed the hunter with a finger and shook his head, his voice not quite as deep and scary as it had just been, "Tut-tut-tut. You still have one more thing to find before you can run off singing 'We Are the Champions', Freddie Mercury."

The bowlegged hunter bent over, his hands resting on his knees. Down at this level, he stared the boy straight in the eyes and tilted his head, "What are you talking about? We found our stuff, now –"

But the boy raised an eyebrow, his twiggy arms crossed smugly over his thin chest, "Not a 'what', Dean-o. A 'who'…"

The man bolted upright – stiff as a board, "Cas?"

The mysterious boy winked, making those little hand-pistols at both of the Winchester brothers, "Bingo! Now, for sudden death – you must go find the fair virgin. Better hop to it, sport. Doesn't have much longer…"

Dean looked down at his cellphone and saw that it was almost 7 o'clock – that meant Castiel only had about five more hours until whoever that snotty little kid was made the Angel disappear for good. He ran from the museum, leaving Sam in his dust.

The frantic hunter drove through the town, trying to find out where the Angel was being held hostage. He and Sam had pretty much gone through every knick-knack shop and tourist trap in Angels Camp and they never saw any hint of Castiel being imprisoned there.

_Where on God's green earth had the Angel been hidden?_

**9:42 [2 hours and 18 minutes left…]**

Sam waited for his brother in their motel room and cringed when he heard the roar of the Impala pulling up and the frustrated slam of the door.

Dean walked in a few seconds later, fuming in anger. "I've looked everywhere! I don't know where this dick, whoever he is, stashed Cas – but it is _not_ here."

The seated Winchester pulled out his recently recovered laptop and reacquainted himself with Google search. "Let's look at any older buildings in the area – Cas has to be somewhere that he isn't going to be found, or else someone would've called the cops on him by now, right?"

His freckled nose twitched and he huffed "yeah" before he plopped down on the edge of the bed. His green eyes watched with interest as Sam's fingers clacked against the keyboard, pulling up page after page.

Then a loud gasp –

"Oh my God, how did I not think of this before?"

Dean jumped up, "What?"

Sam smacked himself on the forehead, "When I first got to Stanford, I still really didn't have the hunting out of my system –"

His brother only glared at him with a look that read "if you don't get to the point of this little anecdote, so help me God, I will kill you where you sit".

The larger Winchester gulped and smirked nervously, "Um, yeah, I kinda broke into the basement of a hospital that was having spirit issues – old TB patients. Just a basic salt-and-burn, but it's probably an hour or so away from here… Maybe Cas is there?"

There was a silence that told Sam that his brother was ready to have him committed for such an idea, so he explained himself – "Listen, this entity – whatever it is – knows about us. It knew what to take from us to make us lose our shit. Maybe it knows that I've hunted there before? It's worth a shot…"

At this point, Dean was ready to do anything. He fished the Impala's key from his pocket and made his way to the door, "Come on, Sasquatch. Let's get the lead out."

Heavy footfalls followed Dean out to the car as his oversized brother lumbered behind him.

**10:47 [1 hour and 23 minutes left…]**

Sam and Dean walked into the hospital in janitor's uniforms, hoping to just blend in with the other workers until they could find the old tuberculosis ward. It was surprisingly easy – the night-shift at Carver General Hospital was very under-staffed and none of them seemed overly concerned by the new janitors.

They made their way to the janitor's closet and grabbed mops and buckets. They had to at least pretend they were going to clean something up, in case anyone got suspicious.

Sam nodded towards the elevators, "Dean – basement?"

The older hunter nodded and they headed down to the basement.

The basement, as it turned out, was almost pitch-black and very stuffy. The hospital had probably stopped using it altogether when they started to build the new medical buildings that the boys had passed on the way into the hospital.

Sam was the first to find the boarded up hallway that led to the dilapidated corridor of the hospital. He called out, "Dean! Dean! What about down here?"

The frantic hunter ran towards his brother, his M1911 drawn, and began to kick down the rotting wood that blocked off that wing. His larger brother pushed through the boards with his muscular shoulder – giving them enough of a gap to squeeze through.

Sam manned the flashlight, piercing through the darkness and lighting the path to the countless cells – it looked like a prison.

The brothers found themselves at the end of the hallway, with only one room left to clear.

Dean burst in, hoping to high Heaven that Castiel would be there and that he would be safe.

The Angel was chained to the wall when the Winchesters came in, a large strip of duct tape over his mouth to silence him. He was still wearing that damned suit – though the trenchcoat had been discarded onto the floor and his shirt was torn open. Whoever it is that put the Angel down here knew that Castiel would not have risked hurting innocent people in the hospital above them than try to escape this prison.

The hunter slipped his pistol into the waistband of his jeans and ran to Castiel's side, ripping the duct tape from his mouth in one fell swoop.

Castiel let out a vicious scream and Dean's turned burned a bright red, "Sorry, Cas. Come on; let's get you out of here, eh?"

The chained Angel looked up at him, his hair damp and plastered to his face with sweat, "I can't." He pulled on the restraints that kept him pinned to the wall, "These chains."

The green-eyed hunter scowled, "Angel-proof?"

His blue-eyed Angel nodded back, looking guilty and apologetic.

The elder Winchester sighed, reaching forward to run his fingers through the sweaty black hair, "Who has you here, Cas?"

The sound of wings fluttering interrupted anything the captive Angel might have said.

"Hello, _**boychicks**_! How you been?"

The Winchester boys turned around to find Gabriel standing in the cell with them. His body was glowing with a golden light that provided them with enough light to see. He looked much like he had the last time the Winchesters saw him – wearing a cargo jacket and t-shirt with a casual pair of jeans.

Sam stood there, his jaw flapping like a fish on dry land, "But… we saw you die, Gabriel!"

The Archangel gave them a toothy smile and he laughed, "Yeah, well… I didn't. And I just decided to wait around until the whole Apocalypse thing blew over. By the way, Sam-o, you been workin' out? Lookin' good, kiddo."

Dean growled, marching over to the Angel and throwing him against the wall, "You did all of this? This whole quest thing?"

Gabriel rolled his eyes, "God. The way you say it, it sounds like I'm an asshole. But yeah, I'm the one who put together this whole quest… think of it as my way of letting you know I'm back in business – Trickster is back in business!"

The hunters were more than upset.

Sam just shook his head, bitchfacing the whole way.

His brother, on the other hand, was furious.

"Seriously? This is like some sick real-life D&D to you? You're twisted."

The Angel raised an eyebrow, almost taunting him, "Hello… Trickster. Anyways, it was just a bit of fun. Besides, no one got hurt, I promise. Not even Cassie here. He's _**mishpucha**_, I wouldn't hurt the kid." He leaned forward and grabbed Castiel's face, smushing his cheeks into his jaw, "Isn't that right, Cassie?"

The bound Angel glared at his older brother, his blue eyes dark with annoyance, "I don't like that name, Gabriel."

The shorter man let out an exaggerated sigh, "You guys, seriously… all a bunch of sticks in the mud. Seriously, though, I didn't harm a hair on your widdle boyfriend's head."

Dean tensed and he could feel Sam's gaze burning holes in his back. "Yeah, great, Gabe. Now let Cas go. Or else."

Knowing that he had been bested, fair and square, he acquiesced and, with a snap of his fingers, freed Castiel from his chains.

The Angel dropped to his feet and he looked up at Dean, his lip twitching in an attempt to smile.

The hunter smiled and grabbed his Angel by his small shoulders, pulling them together in a forceful and longing kiss. His hand ran up through the black hair and brought him closer to the celestial warrior, deepening the kiss.

Sam stood behind his brother, staring in shock and his jaw hanging like a codfish.

Gabriel's only response was a snort, "Geez. Those two horn-dogs… Maybe I should've left the chains on. At least for a –"

The larger Winchester interrupted him with a pained "It cannot be unseen."

Dean and Castiel continued to kiss, not caring that their brothers were there watching. Castiel's hand gripped his human's shoulder tightly, over the mark he had left when he pulled him from Perdition.

Gabriel jabbed Sam in the ribs, chuckling, "Oh, come on. Aren't you a little bit glad that our brothers finally got the sticks out of their asses and –"

The younger hunter cried out, clawing at his green eyes, "Oh my God! Dean! Are you serious?"

Dean smirked as his kisses moved down the Angel's neck.

Castiel's gravelly voice called out, "If you don't like it, don't watch…"

The Archangel let out a chuckle and opened his mouth to praise his littlest brother's newly acquired human attributes. But he stopped when he realized that the Angel of Thursday certainly meant business –

"Um, maybe we should leave before we find out which of our brothers is gonna end up the stick that – Oh Heaven! _Now_, Sam!"

The Archangel disappeared – leaving Sam Winchester to run from the room on his own with his hands over his eyes.

Dean pulled away from his Angel, resting their foreheads against each other, and smiled – panting and out of breath. "I guess this makes us a thing now, eh?"

The Angel frowned, "We've always been 'things'. How is this different?"

The hunter twitched and he tried to explain himself better, his eyes closed tight as he took a deep breath, "_No_, Cas. I…"

Castiel's rumbling voice vibrated against Dean, sending shivers up the human's spine, as he smirked. "I was _joking_, Dean."


End file.
